


Wretched!

by holymalfoys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bands, Bottom Draco, M/M, Pining, Sort Of, Talk Shows, Top Harry, muggle appliances, not explicit sex, six years is a long time, worried Hermione, worried Ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymalfoys/pseuds/holymalfoys
Summary: Harry stood staring at the screen and gaping like a goldfish for entirely too long. His glasses were skewed on his nose, his hair was sticking up all over the place, and Draco Malfoy was on his telly. What even was his life.





	Wretched!

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this at 3am on a school night, so ignore any mistakes. enjoy.

Six months after the war ended, and two months after his name had been cleared for good, Draco Malfoy seemingly evaporated off the face of the earth.

And that was fine by Harry. Really, it was. In his head, it was better to have Malfoy off the radar than on it and wreaking havoc everywhere.

But another part of him was curious as to where, exactly, his childhood nemesis disappeared to. After spending the best part of 7 years constantly being surrounded by him, it felt a bit strange to not see him anywhere. Harry had briefly thought he’d been murdered or something, but no records were ever found, and Harry hadn’t really known what to do or where to go then.

He’d been gone for six years now, and Harry still wondered about him.

Life had turned out… _different_ than what Harry was expecting. For one thing, he found that both he and Ginny were gay, so that put an end to Molly’s daydream of having Harry as a son in law. That didn’t matter anyway, though; Ginny didn’t want to get married- she was a free spirit, always was- and, the last Harry heard, she was hiking through Scotland.

Ron and Hermione had married, which was normal and expected, and they had two children who Harry adored with his whole heart.

Harry had joined the auror force, but he was the only one of the trio to do so; Hermione became a human rights lawyer, and Ron a _healer,_ which was completely unexpected, but he was happy and so Harry was happy for him.

That being said, Harry wasn’t very happy for _himself_. His job sucked; he had signed up for the Aurors immediately after he finished school, mainly because he didn’t know what else to do with his life, and had been very disappointed to find that it was a whole lot of paperwork and hardly any running around after bad guys. In other words, all work and no play, and Harry felt as though he deserved at least a little bit of fun- he’d saved the whole bloody world, after all.

He still lived in Grimmauld Place. That was unexpected, too: at the start, Harry had hated it, had found it far too grim to bear, but it had strangely grown on him over time. It took a whole year to clean, to make homely, but he did it, and now he adored it.

The living room was full of overstuffed sofas, the kitchen was wooden and old-fashioned, the library was immaculate, and the bedrooms were so homely it was a struggle to leave them in the morning.

Harry had modernised his home by making tiny additions of muggle appliances- a television in the living room, a radio and oven and toaster and kettle in the kitchen, a few lamps here and there. He adored it- it was just so him.

Sometimes he liked to lie on the sofa in front of the telly and ponder life. More importantly, he liked to wonder about Malfoy.

Harry had thought he would’ve come out of hiding by now- heavens know his mother had- or his body would’ve been recovered or something, but no. Draco Malfoy remained stubbornly, infuriatingly, completely out of Harry’s life, and Harry didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

Sometimes Harry wondered if he was the only one making a big deal about him being missing, if people actually knew where he was but didn’t tell Harry because maybe it was obvious where he was or something, if perhaps he didn’t need to wonder at all. There had been no missing persons report, no hint of a kidnapping or murder or _anything_ , so Malfoy’s departure of the wizarding world technically wasn’t a mystery to be solved.

And so Harry had pushed all thoughts of the blond git to the back of his memory, where they had stayed for six weeks. Harry was rather proud of himself, really, because he didn’t really know how _not_ to think of the boy who had plagued his thoughts since they were both eleven.

Life had gone on. Cases were completed, laughs were had, pints were drank, and Malfoy made no appearance whatsoever, but Harry wasn’t thinking about him anymore so it didn’t really matter.

 

~

 

It was now Wednesday the fifth of June, six years after Draco Malfoy stepped off the world, and Harry was sprawled on his sofa. His legs were dangling off the edge, his hands were behind his head, and his Chinese takeaway was balanced carefully on his stomach. The telly was blaring, and he thought that maybe this was the closest he would get to pure bliss.

He’d been scrolling through channels for the last half an hour or so, and had settled on a muggle chat show. The host was bubbly and well dressed, and the guests were all laughing at a joke he had told them or something. Harry wasn’t really paying attention.

His mind wandered to the part of his brain where his memories of Malfoy lay. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to just go ahead and think about him; it was Malfoy’s birthday, after all, and it wasn’t as if anyone else was sparing him a thought.

“Happy birthday, you snotty ponce,” Harry spoke aloud, before grabbing his chopsticks and plunging them back into his rapidly cooling Chow Mein. “Wherever the fuck you are.”

He burped loudly and turned his attention back to the TV, just in time for the host to say:

“After the break we have a very special present for you.” The crowd wooed, and Harry slurped his Chow Mein. “Here, on this very couch, we’re delighted to be welcoming the band _Wretched!_ for their very first television debut, so stay tuned!”

Harry had heard of _Wretched!,_ had listened to their music on the wireless and had shamelessly bopped around the kitchen to them, so he sat up a little straighter.

They were a pop band, new on the scene, and had taken the world of music by storm. They slammed the charts- they had 4 released singles, and each one had rocketed to the number 1 spot and stayed there stubbornly until their next song was released. They were _huge_.

Despite being so well known, however, they had never done any interviews, had never done any magazine shoots, had never been seen at any awards shows. Nothing. They were as anonymous as Harry was gay, so the fact that they were going to be on this show tonight was major.

The only thing anyone knew was that the lead singer was a male. After that, nothing. No one even knew how many people were in the band. It was all very secretive, and all very exciting.

Harry liked their songs. They just released a new one, titled “Spell on You”, and he wondered if they were going to perform it tonight.

The lead singer was incredible, one of a kind; his voice was compelling- it drew you in, mesmerised you- and absolutely astounding. Smoky, sultry, playful-  by Merlin did he know how to use it.

Harry would’ve liked to see them live, he thought. He bet his mismatched, holey socks would’ve been blown right the way off.

Before he knew it, the show was back on. The roaring applause of the audience snapped him out of his daze, and he slumped back down until he was comfortable.

A bubble of excitement arose in his stomach as the camera panned over to a dark stage set up on the screen.

The starting notes of “Spell on You” trinkled out as the camera swooped down to the back of a pair of black boots.

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest. This was it, this was the lead singer. He wondered if he was attractive.

Slowly, the camera rose. Harry saw feet tapping out the rhythm, saw legs that stretched on forever, clad in black leather trousers; he noticed the tight, round arse that was showcased beautifully by said leather trousers. He saw a black leather jacket with “Wretched!” stitched in silver lettering that framed a lithe torso, saw the pale hands that had rings on every single finger. He saw the shoulder length platinum hair, saw the little braid that tell down the centre of it. He turned the volume up and wiped his sweaty hands off on his worn jeans.

 _Oh boy, here we go!_ He thought, as the stage suddenly lit up. His heart was in the tips of his toes- he wasn’t quite sure why he was so nervous, but it didn’t matter because this was so exciting!

The singer bopped his head a few times, getting prepared to belt out the beginning of the melody. He stuck his leg out, and, in the blink of an eye, spun around to face the camera.

His head was ducked so Harry couldn’t yet see his face fully, but, from what he could see, he was _gorgeous._

Suddenly, his head snapped up, and he started singing.

But Harry couldn’t hear the words. Gobsmacked, he flew up from the sofa, spilling his Chow Mein all over the floor. His hands fell to his sides, the remote clattering to the floor.

Because there, winking into the camera, looking like an absolute sin and belting out the lyrics of a song that Harry loved on live television, was Draco fucking Malfoy.

 

~

 

Harry stood staring at the screen and gaping like a goldfish for entirely too long. His glasses were skewed on his nose, his hair was sticking up all over the place, and Draco Malfoy was on his telly. What even was his life.

Through the bewilderment that settled over him like a mist of seaspray, Harry noticed the other members of the band. There were four of them in total, and Harry recognised all of them: Luna Lovegood was playing the keyboard, Pansy Parkinson was playing the electric keyboard, and…

Was that Ginny on the fucking _drums_?! What on earth happened to hiking through the hills of Scotland and seeing the world?!

Harry was in absolute shock. He think his heart might’ve failed. Maybe he died again… that would explain why he was seeing Malfoy, of all people, perform to a crowd full of muggles.

What made it worse was the fact that he was actually _good_. He knew exactly what he was doing as he wriggled all around the stage and danced provocatively, knew how to make the crowd his, knew how to play them for all they were worth.

It was pure, unbridled _magic,_ and it lit Harry on fire.

Dazed, he watched as the performance ended, watched as they all rose and grasped each other’s hands and bowed, watched as Malfoy grinned like a shark.

He watched as they all hugged the host, watched as Malfoy kissed his cheek and smothered him in a bear cuddle, watched as they all sat down, but Harry didn’t register anything until the host began speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was _Wretched!_ ” the crowd whooped and hollered. Malfoy preened and blushed under their eyes, and Harry’s brain was completely boggled.

“My goodness, you were astounding! Absolutely electric!” the host exclaimed, and Malfoy smiled softly.

“Thank you,” he said, and his voice was so gentle and bashful, so unlike anything Harry ever knew before, so unlike his devilish appearance that Harry flopped down onto his sofa.

Malfoy was _gorgeous._ His eyebrows were thick and filled in with brown, his eyes were lined with heavy black, his high cheekbones shone under the lights, his lips glossy and his cheeks were pink. His nails were painted black, his top was mesh _and Harry could see his nipples_ , and he looked exactly as though he stepped straight out of Harry’s darkest fantasies.

Harry really wasn’t that startled to find himself attracted to Malfoy. He clearly had bigger problems to worry about, such as why was Draco Malfoy part of a pop band and also why did Ginny shave the sides of her head.

The host droned on as Harry had a crisis on the sofa. He just couldn’t grasp the fact that this was where Malfoy had ended up, that Malfoy had become so stark and yet so soft, because what the fuck.

The band members began to introduce themselves, and that was when Harry started paying attention again.

Pansy introduced herself as Priyanka, Luna introduced herself as Raini, Ginny introduced herself as Sansa, and Malfoy introduced himself as Harry.

_Harry._

Harry didn’t even know how to fathom that, and so was sent spiraling into another crisis.

Why? What? How? Why? Why on earth was Draco Malfoy, Harry’s arch nemesis, using _his_ name?

By the time Harry had even _slightly_ recovered, Malfoy was smiling at the camera.

“We’ll be playing at Hyde Park next Saturday, and we do so hope to see you all there. Love you!”

At that stage, Harry had turned off the TV and was falling into the Floo.

 

~

 

“Malfoy… band… fucking…” Harry spluttered as he crawled out of Hermione and Ron’s fireplace, smothered in ashes and completely mind fucked.

“Harry? Is that you? You’re a bit late for dinner I’m afraid, but…” Hermione walked out of the kitchen and, upon seeing Harry, immediately called for Ron, who came racing down the stairs.

“Harry? Mate, can you hear me? Are you ok?” Ron sounded panicked and Harry raised his head to look at him.

“Malfoy was just on the telly,” he said, rising to his feet with the help of Hermione. “Singing. He’s in a band. With Ginny.”

Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him into the kitchen. She glanced anxiously at Ron, who was pulling out a chair for his obviously frazzled friend.

Harry sat down, his eyes searching the kitchen- for what, he didn’t know- and said:

“A band.”

Ron sat down next to him, grimacing. “Yeah, mate, about that…”

Harry turned to him. Searching his face, he gasped scandalously.

“You knew!”

Ron grimaced further. “Well, sort of… we knew Ginny was in a band, and she might’ve mentioned a thing or two about Malfoy… but we were sworn to secrecy, Harry! She threatened us with Bat Bogey Hexes, and you _know_ how bad those can be…” he shivered.

At that moment, Hermione came back with three beers. Harry hadn’t even noticed she was gone. She set one down in front of Harry and he sipped it thoughtfully.

He wasn’t angry. He couldn’t have been- he knew exactly how bad those Bat Bogey Hexes hurt. He was just… in shock; he felt like he was drowning and didn’t know what way the surface was.

Hermione patted his soot-covered hand. “Harry, are you ok?”

That snapped Harry out of his groove.

Was he ok? Definitely not.

“Did you know that Malfoy is using _my_ name for his stage name? What the fuck is that about?”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a quick look. Sighing, Ron patted Harry’s other hand.

“Harry, you need to talk to him to find that out. We think you’ve needed to talk to him for a long, long time. They’re playing a gig on Saturday, and Hermione’s mum is taking the kids, and we want you to come with us. Please?”

Harry considered it. He really did have quite a lot of questions, and he did like their music, and he had nothing else to do on Saturday…

“Ok,” he yawned, because he was suddenly exhausted. “Yeah, that sounds nice. D’ya mind if I crash here for tonight?”

“Of course we don’t mind!” Hermione exclaimed, but she eyed him wearily. “First, though…” and she hit him with a lightning-quick cleaning charm.

Harry stumbled up the stairs and into the spare bedroom, and, within seconds of hitting the pillow, he was out cold, dreaming about Malfoy and his fucking leather trousers.

 

~

 

The next two days were largely spent staring off into space and thinking about Malfoy. The most mundane tasks turned into the worst health hazards; like pouring boiling water into his mug of coffee and him becoming distracted resulted in him almost scalding himself, or him burning his toast to a crisp and almost setting the kitchen on fire and not even noticing until he saw the toaster go up in flames.

Harry felt as though he was sixteen again, deep in the height of his obsession with the bastard.

“Potter! Earth to Harry James Potter!” Neville was standing in front of his desk, waving his hand in his face. Harry turned to face him.

“Mate, are you ok? You’ve been like this for the past two days!” Harry blinked slowly at him, then remembered he was at work and did, in fact, have a job to do.

“Oh fuck! Sorry Nev, what’s up?” Neville tutted and shook his head.

“Harry. Work finished three hours ago, why are you still here?” And Harry realized it was Friday night and he was late for drinks.

He jumped up. “Oh shit, shit! Sorry! Wait, why are you still here?”

Neville grinned. “The lads sent me to come collect you, idiot. They started placing bets to see how long you’d stay here for… Justin bet you’d stay here overnight, and I knew I had to step in if he was getting involved. Plus Ron’s just ordered a round, and there’s a Firewhisky with your name on it!”

Harry was knackered, and he only started to feel it then. Putting up with that lot seemed like it was far too much bother for a quiet life, so he decided he’d go home.

“Yeah, Nev, about that… I think I’m gonna head home. Sorry mate.” Harry reached into his pocket and slipped twenty knuts into Neville’s hand. “To make up for the money you lost to Finch-Fletchley.”

He Apparated home and went straight to bed.

 

~

 

It was almost time to go to the gig, and Harry couldn’t decide what to wear.

He’d been standing in his pants and staring into his wardrobe for entirely too long, and had come to the conclusion that his taste in clothes was shit. Hermione and Ron would be calling for him any minute now, and here he was, almost completely naked, having another Malfoy-related crisis, because it was all his fault that Harry didn’t know how to dress.

A pop came from downstairs, followed by a tentative call of his name. There they were.

Closing his eyes, he blindly reached into his closet and grabbed the first thing he felt: a green sweater. It would have to do.

He tugged on a pair of jeans and his old trainers as well, and raced down the stairs.

Hermione was looking at her watch, and Ron had his hands stuffed into his pockets and was whistling a tune Harry didn’t recognise. Wordlessly, Hermione held her arms out; the boys grabbed them, and they were all immediately whisked off to Hyde Park.

 

~

 

The first thing Harry noticed was how gigantic the crowd was.

It was almost dizzying, that massive swarm of bodies. Signs were thrust up everywhere, and Harry caught glimpses of ones that read: “HARRY WE LOVE YOU!”, “SANSA YOU CAN BE THE QUEEN IN OUR NORTH ANY DAY OF THE WEEK”, which Harry figured was a reference to some muggle film or something that he didn’t know about, “MARRY ME PRIYANKA!”, and, Harry’s personal favourite, “RAINI YOU MAKE ME AS WET AS RAIN”.

Everyone seemed to be scantily dressed, and Harry felt a bit self conscious. Why did he decide to wear a pullover to a fucking concert again?

Hermione seemingly had backstage passes for all of them, so she kept a firm hold on Harry and Ron’s arms and dragged them straight up to the makeshift stage for the day.

It was even busier backstage. People were running about the place, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how these people were working for a band whose identities were only exposed a few days ago.

Clearly _Wretched!_ had had a busy few days.

All of a sudden, something brushed past Harry’s arm. He was snapped out of his train of thought by it, and he was delighted to see Ginny in front of him.

“Ginny! Fucking hell!” Harry hugged her tight, and she hugged him back. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me- I thought you were in Scotland, for fuck’s sakes!”

Ginny grinned cheekily. “Fancy seeing you here, old man. And it wasn’t up to just me- we decided to keep it a secret from everyone, especially since Draco isn’t involved with magic anymore…”

At that, someone else pushed past Harry. He caught glimpse of white blond hair, and his mouth went dry.

Malfoy turned to look at him, and the shock in his eyes was as clear as the sun in the sky. Harry wanted to say something, anything, but his vocabulary let him down and he was left as a goldfish once again as Malfoy rounded a corner and left his line of sight.

Ginny, who was watching him, smirked. “Enjoy the show, old man,” she called as she bounced after her lead singer, bashing her drumsticks off pieces of equipment as she went on her merry way.

Pansy and Luna stalked up then, and Luna gave him a little wave. “Harry! It’s so lovely to see you again!”

Harry waved back, still in shock. Then Pansy raised her eyebrow and smirked at him knowingly, and suddenly he had to tie his shoelace.

This show was going to be his worst nightmare, he already knew it.

 

~

 

The show was his worst nightmare.

It was also his greatest pleasure.

If he thought seeing his childhood rival singing on the TV was impossible to fathom, then he definitely wasn’t prepared for what seeing him performing live would do to him.

Malfoy was a magnet. He danced, he sang, he joked, he flirted. His body language _screamed_ sexy, sneaky minx, and it absolutely did not help that he was wearing short shorts with fishnets and those fucking boots again.

He was wearing that leather jacket again, and a black crop top that had “slut” splashed across the front of it. His mouth wateringly flat stomach was exposed. Again, his cheekbones sparkled, his cheeks blushed, his lips glossed and his eyes were clattered in eye liner. His hair was loose and fell in waves, framing his sharp face perfectly.

Harry was a goner. The world could’ve ended during that show, and Harry wouldn’t even have noticed.

He was still in complete shock over the fact that Malfoy had been gone for six years and came back as a fucking pop singer. He still couldn’t understand why he’d chosen Harry for his stage name, and he certainly didn’t know how to dissect his not-so-newfound feelings of attraction for this man, who’d spoiled his dreams since he was sixteen and didn’t know what it all meant, but something had started to click.

The crowd lapped it all up. Malfoy had them all around his pinky finger, and Harry knew that he was exactly where he was always supposed to be: centre stage, the middle of the party, the chance to show himself for what he _was_ \- a happy, carefree soul- and not what he was _supposed to be._

And Harry understood. This was a new start, a fresh beginning, and it all started to sink in.

 

~

 

The show ended, and the band ran off stage. Malfoy jogged past him first, sweaty and sparkly and smiling, and Harry said his name.

“Draco,” he murmured. And Draco grinned, brighter than all the stars in the sky.

“Harry.” It sounded like coming home

And there it was. There was Harry, feeling eleven and terrified again, stretching a tentative hand out and offering his friendship, and there was Draco, taking it. There were two boys, both who had been through things only the other knew about and understood, taking the leap they didn’t have the chance to take all those years ago. There were two universes about to collide in the way they were always meant to. There was a new beginning.

Later on, Harry would approach Draco.

Later on, Draco would smile and they’d strike up a conversation.

Later on, they’d go for dinner, and it would be shy and awkward and a little bit fighty- because they’re still Potter and Malfoy- and a lot great.

Later on, Harry would walk Draco home.

Later on, Draco would snog Harry blind and drag him into his apartment, because _he had wanted this too_.

Later on, Harry would fuck Draco into his mattress, and their mouths would be glued together, and words would be whispered into ears, and tears would spill because this would mean more than either of them had anticipated, and they would truly, truly explore each other’s galaxies.

Later on, lying in bed together, Draco would tell Harry that he’d been travelling for six years, been singing in pubs and at weddings and anywhere he could’ve, really, as a faceless, nameless nobody in a world he wasn’t used to, because he was tired of the Wizarding world and needed to change something in his life, before he had reconciled with Pansy and Luna and they started writing their own stuff and performing in the streets.

Later on, he would tell of how they met Ginny, way up in the north of Scotland, and how she had wanted to join them because she was a little bit lost, too, and how they had started together and had gotten spotted in a pub and started rising from there on out.

Later on, Draco would explain that he picked the name Harry because he wasn’t prepared for the question and Harry had been the only thing he’d ever known and he’d been thinking about him non-stop, and Harry would understand because he’d been thinking about Draco, too, and maybe Draco was the only one who he’d ever truly known as well.

Later on, Harry would talk about his shit job and his takeaway addiction and how he listened to the radio and went for drinks with his friends, and he would tell shit jokes and Draco would laugh, and then he’d fuck Draco slowly and deeply and with feelings he wouldn’t know how to put into words.

That was all for later on, though.

For now, they were friends, and that was enough.

  


**Author's Note:**

> all rights go to JK Rowling.


End file.
